


love gestures

by scarletred



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crushes, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Injuries, Racing, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22633984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletred/pseuds/scarletred
Summary: A collection of short fluffy fics about boys in love.Tags to be added as we go.
Relationships: Alexander Albon/Charles Leclerc, Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, Kimi Räikkönen/Sebastian Vettel, Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr
Comments: 51
Kudos: 210





	1. I'm wrapped in a blanket so you don't get cold (Charles/Max)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up with this idea so here we are again.  
There's a couple of non-English sentences/expressions, check the notes at the end for the translation.  
Hope you like it!

A piercing scream that makes his blood run cold.

It’s only as he opens his eyes that he realises the scream was his own.

He must have had another nightmare, even though right now he can’t remember what it was about.

His heart is beating frantically inside his ribcage, almost like it wants to jump out of his body.

He can’t quite get his breathing under control and he feels hyper-aware of everything.

In the darkness of his bedroom everything feels strangely unfamiliar, but he knows that’s just his anxious mind struggling to return to rational thoughts.

Something stirs beside him and in his haste to move away from _it_ he almost falls off the bed.

“Shhh, Max. It’s just me” says a voice still laced with sleep.

Not _a voice_.

Charles.

His brain starts catching up and piecing the information together: he’s at his boyfriend’s place and that’s why at first he couldn’t recognise his surroundings. He still hasn’t gotten used to waking up here, especially not in the middle of the night with the lights all out.

_His boyfriend._

“Did you have another nightmare?” Charles asks as he’s checking what time it is on his phone, blinking his eyes shut almost immediately in that cute way of his because of the sudden light. Somehow he looks gorgeous even in the pale glow coming from the lock screen. A picture of them, of course.

He only nods in answer because right now he doesn’t find it in himself to speak. A knot just formed in his throat because he has realised that he dreamt of Charles’s death. Again. The blurry memory of it is enough to make him shudder. Those eyes he loves so much, open wide but unmoving. The same eyes that are currently staring at him in concern. Charles must have turned the light on while he was lost in the corners of his mind.

He gets up and offers him a hand.

“It’s 6am. Let’s go see the sunrise, come on.”

This. This is exactly why he loves him so much. Charles never forces him to talk when he doesn’t want to, but somehow he always knows how to make him feel better. Max doesn’t understand how he got so lucky.

He takes Charles’s hand and gingerly gets up too. The t-shirt and pyjama bottoms he’s wearing aren’t of much use against the cold air of the flat and he shivers slightly, but he can tell Charles noticed it. For some weird biological reason, unlike him, Charles never gets cold. Whenever Max gets grumpy and starts complaining about it Charles just laughs, says he’s _Max’s personal heater_ and holds him a bit closer to his heart. Maybe Max has started complaining more on purpose.

Without either of them saying anything Charles wraps himself around Max’s back and navigates them around his place until they reach the living room. The sun is slowly starting to emerge from the Mediterranean Sea in front of them, the blues lightening and blending into much warmer shades of yellow and orange. A few clouds seem to be running away and Max already feels his own clouds dissipate.

He sits on the couch, against the armrest and with his knees pulled up, waiting for Charles to do the same, but his boyfriend seems to have suddenly vanished. The shadow of a headache is looming over him, so he rests his head against his knees and closes his eyes. After a few moments he hears Charles’s light footsteps on the floor and before he knows it a fluffy blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. He hums in appreciation and the reply is a gentle kiss on his temple.

He peeks his eyes open as Charles is sitting on the opposite end in a similar position, his legs stretched so that Max can have some physical contact without feeling crowded. He hasn’t told him anything about the nightmare, even though Charles knows that sometimes he dreams of his loved ones dying so he must have figured out what it was about. He’s making sure that they’re facing each other, he’s making sure that Max can clearly see that he’s alive and well. Max has never been more grateful for his amazing boyfriend. The surge of love he feels for the boy in front of him makes his heart all warm and fuzzy.

It’s only when he adjusts the blanket over him that he notices that Charles has wrapped himself in one too. Weird. Maybe he’s coming down with something or… Max has no idea, so he clears his throat and tentatively asks.

“Why the blanket?” he nods in his direction.

It might be the sunrise, but Charles’s cheeks seem rosier than usual. He looks down for a second, almost embarrassed.

“Eh… it’s a bit cold.”

Max knows he’s lying. Max also knows Charles knows he knows he’s lying. Why?

“You never get cold.”

It sounds like an accusation more than he would have wanted it to. Waking up abruptly always leaves him a bit rough around the edges, nightmares making him less of a human and more of a heap of tension. Charles doesn’t mind, he knows it wasn’t intentional. Except he straight up blushes this time, there’s no trick of the light that could be used as an excuse. For a moment Max lets his mind wander to the summer ahead: he thinks of sun-kissed skin and salty kisses, laughter echoing through deserted corners of some random French town, just the two of them and the night sky above. He thinks of lazy mornings spent in a bed that’s definitely too hot to be comfortable. He thinks of the future without being scared. He feels his body relax at the realisation. The idea of a life lived without fear. He still hasn’t gotten used to it.

Charles’s murmured reply brings him back from his thoughts.

“I have it so you don’t get cold looking at me.”

He looks sheepish as he says it, wary of coming across as too sappy. But Charles is, by definition, sappy. Max usually teases him about it and calls him _cuore di panna_. It’s one of the few Italian expressions he knows, but it’s definitely his favourite. It fits Charles perfectly too.

Max shakes his head in amusement and looks at him fondly. He wrapped himself in a blanket despite being a living furnace on his own. Only because he knew Max would have gotten cold if he saw him in just a t-shirt. Max can’t quite believe this boy. _His_ boy.

He throws himself at him, almost breaking a leg in the process, blanket falling on the floor. Charles only has time to let out a small yelp of surprise before they’re kissing. It quickly turns into an impromptu make-out session. Not that he’s complaining.

After a few minutes they pull away from each other, but just slightly.

“You know I love you, right?” he sounds a bit breathless. Blame it on the kissing. Blame it on Charles looking _so good_ as the sun is rising over Monaco and their bubble of love.

Charles laughs, all mirth and devotion in his eyes.

“_Oui, mon amour. Je le sais bien_.”

Max gives him one quick kiss before settling down on his chest, lying half on him. On any other day Charles would have started whining about being crushed to death, melodramatic as he loves to be. Today he cuddles Max closer to make sure that he can hear the comforting sound of his steady heartbeat. It’s going to be a nice day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
\- cuore di panna:  
wELL, this is an Italian expression that I never know how to translate in English. Literally it's "heart of cream", but it sounds so dumb to me lmao. We use it to describe someone who's a softie, like a very pure soul that could never intentionally hurt anyone. Someone who's all soft inside, like one of those cream filled desserts. Idk, I find it so sweet, even a bit disgustingly so haha  
\- Oui, mon amour. Je le sais bien.  
Yes, my love. I know it well.  
I hope my French teacher is proud of me for remembering how to say this even though I haven't uttered a word in French once in the past ten years. Ops.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think!  
tumblr: scharletred


	2. I put sugar in my coffee because you need it more (Carlos/Lando)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! I had never written about these two before and I suck at writing in the past tense, so this should be fun lmao  
As usual, check the other notes for the translation of the Spanish phrases if you need it.  
Enjoy :)

Carlos was humming a melody under his breath when he stopped abruptly. No. He wasn’t going to let his perfect music taste be tainted by Lando’s horrendous playlists. He loved him, he really did, but he also couldn’t stand the music he listened to.

Speaking of his boyfriend, Carlos was glad that he was finally allowing himself some well-deserved rest. Lando always got so stressed during exam season, often staying up late at night to revise even though he didn’t need it. They used to fight a lot over this when they first started dating. In time Carlos learnt not to intrude too much on his study schedule, but he still wished Lando would take better care of himself.

The gurgling of the coffee maker brought him back to reality. He quickly turned the stove off and grabbed a cup from the dishwasher. He then rummaged through the kitchen to find a teaspoon, shaking his head as he realised Lando must have misplaced them again. That boy was so messy he would have lost his own head if only it were possible. Quickly, Carlos. How would Lando think? Teaspoons, teaspoons… In the fridge, near the milk bottles, of course! It made no sense.

Carefully to avoid getting burnt, Carlos poured the coffee into his cup and then, without hesitation whatsoever, retrieved the sugar from the cupboard and added two spoons of it to the black liquid. He set the cup on the kitchen table and went to fetch some homemade biscuits from the oven, where they left the batch they didn’t even touch the previous evening. When they moved in together it turned out that domestic Lando was a stress baker. Don’t get him wrong, Carlos loved waking up in the morning to cakes and cookies for breakfast, but his doctor wouldn’t have been too happy if he knew. He had to fish his running gear out from the wardrobe and feign innocence when Lando asked him why he had taken up exercise again. He looked perfect already! Oh sweet Lando… beauty comes with a price. And baked goods are expensive.

He moved the cookies from the tray to a plate and set it on the table, next to his still-steaming coffee. He sat down just as a faint _Carlos?_ echoed through the house. Lando must have woken up when he didn’t find him rolling over. He moved a lot in his sleep, Carlos’s bruised shins could have easily proved it. He obviously didn’t mean to kick his boyfriend out of their bed, but sometimes it could feel that way. In the morning Lando would make up for it with cuddles and kisses and so long as he did they were good. It wasn’t his fault he was always restless.

“Kitchen!” he shouted.

He could hear him shuffling around in their bedroom, probably struggling to find his socks or his phone if the muffled swearwords were a giveaway. Carlos just shrugged at his boyfriend’s usual antics and blew on his coffee in an effort to cool it down quicker. He was munching on the third cookie when Lando appeared on the doorstep, hair still a ruffled mess and dark circles under his sleepy eyes.

“Coffee, please tell me you have coffee, I can smell it.”

“Good morning to you too, _mi amor_.”

Lando had the decency to blush at his own bluntness, but that didn’t stop him from making grabby hands at the cup of coffee that his boyfriend was holding.

“When did you go to bed last night?” Carlos inquired.

Lando bit his lip before answering, ah, that wasn’t good.

“I had an essay to finish.”

Carlos shook his head and held the cup of coffee even closer.

“That is not an answer.” He sighed. “At least tell me it was before two o’ clock.”

Lando just looked down and Carlos decided he was going to tie his boyfriend to the bed as soon as they finished dinner that night. For sleeping purposes only. Sadly.

“Can I still have your coffee, _por favor_?”

Puppy eyes and Spanish? Not fair. Carlos silently handed him the cup and Lando immediately started beaming as if he had been gifted the whole world and not just a few centilitres of coffee.

“Thank you!” he said as he was sitting down on Carlos’s lap. Apparently no one had taught him about personal space, but by now Carlos was used to it and, even though he would have never admitted it out loud, he kind of liked it. Still, he pretended to groan in annoyance.

Lando didn’t even blow on it before taking a sip of the hot beverage.

“Don’t dr-” Carlos tried to warn him, but he was interrupted by a loud _ouch_. Too late. “I was telling you it is too hot! I swear one of these days you will hurt yourself.”

Lando tried his best not to laugh because his boyfriend seemed genuinely concerned about his excess of eagerness in life, but all he could think about was a silly joke he read on the internet.

“What can I say, I like my men like I like my coffee: hot and sweet.”

It was only as Carlos’s body shook with ill-concealed laughter that he realised.

Sweet.

Carlos’s coffee was sweet.

But Carlos liked his coffee black. No milk, no sugar, nothing in it. 100% coffee. Unless…

Lando took another sip to test his theory, ignoring Carlos’s protests that _it is too hot!_

“You put sugar in your coffee for me!” he squealed.

Carlos sternly shook his head trying to deny it, but it was to no use. His red-tinted cheeks betrayed his intentions.

“Oh my God, you truly are the best boyfriend ever!”

Lando quickly put down the coffee to smother Carlos’s face with kisses.

“I love you, I love you, _te amo_ so much, I love you.”

“_Ay_, Lando, I have told you a million times that you can say _te amo mucho__._”

His boyfriend simply shrugged and kept dangling his legs in satisfaction. He stole a cookie from the plate and split it in two before eating it, spreading crumbles all over the front of his t-shirt. That didn’t look like the _front_ at all. Carlos took a better look and noticed the tag sticking out. He rolled his eyes in half exasperation. What did he have to do with this boy?

“I swear, I don’t know how you do so well in uni. Your t-shirt is inside out, _cabr__ó__n_.”

Lando looked confused and ready to object, but then he realised Carlos was actually right. Ops. Instead of being embarrassed he decided to play it off.

“Is that your way of asking me to take it off?”

Carlos wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Maybe.”

Lando was 100% sure that was a _yes_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
\- mi amor: my love  
\- por favor: please  
\- te amo (mucho): I love you (a lot)  
\- cabrón:  
can you believe to this day I thought it simply meant "idiot" or something just like in Italy we use "capra" (goat)?  
Anyway here is clearly used with affection so yeah, idiot it is.
> 
> Let me know if you liked it or if there are mistakes.


	3. You can read because I'm bad at talking (Max/Daniel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
I feel like this is not as fluffy as the ones before, but for me it still counted as an act of selflessness so I'm posting it here.  
If you have read my one-shot [_going places we can't even pronounce_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793992) then know these are the same Max and Daniel. A lot earlier in their relationship, obviously.  
If you haven't read it, don't worry! You don't have to, they're two separate things. I just liked the idea of writer!Max too much not to explore it a bit further. <strike> Somehow I always end up writing about writers ops</strike>  
Let me know what you think!

Max hurriedly locks himself inside the tiny bathroom. This is not going to help with the panic blossoming inside his head, but anything is better than being outside and facing what just happened. He finds himself staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He takes in his ruffled hair, his flushed cheeks, his swollen lips. Bright blue eyes stare at him and a shy smile makes his way across his face.

Daniel loves him. Holy shit. Daniel loves him and he freaked out and ran off. He feels bad for it, but he’s not sure how he’s supposed to deal with this. Should he say it back? _Can_ he say it back? He doesn’t even know what love is meant to feel like. God, this is embarrassing. How can someone like Daniel even love him?

Speaking of Daniel, his worried voice reaches him through the wooden door.

“Maxy, are you okay?” he asks.

Max tries to swallow the lump stuck in his throat even though he knows that’s just accumulated guilt. Breathe, Max, breathe. You’re alright. You’ll be alright. Both of you.

“Yes, give me a minute!” he replies.

There’s only one way out of this mess. He doesn’t want Dan to think that he doesn’t care about him, but he also doesn’t know how to express what he feels. He doesn’t even know what he feels exactly. He takes a big breath, takes one last look at his reflection and unlocks the door.

Daniel engulfs him in a big hug the second he steps out of the bathroom. He loves Daniel’s hugs. They make him feel warm and safe, they make him feel like nothing could hurt him while he’s in his arms.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you off” Daniel mumbles against his shoulder. “But I do love you and I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer.”

He looks smaller as he says it, all sorry and almost fragile. Max doesn’t want to see him like this.

“I have something…” he clears his throat. “I have something I’d like to show you.”

Daniel furrows his brow, but doesn’t say anything. Max hurriedly goes to his bedroom, his boyfriend trailing behind him. He starts to look for something on his desktop, then he moves to the nearby chair that’s entirely occupied by a various array of discarded clothes. Nothing. He motions for Daniel to step away from the wardrobe he’s currently leaning against and he silently obliges. He opens drawer after drawer, not remembering where he buried it after the last time he needed it. At last, he digs something out from where it was hidden underneath a pile of sweaters. Found it!

Out of instinct he hugs the object close to his chest, before sitting down next to Daniel on the bed. He sighs and his hands are a bit shaky as he hands his most precious belonging to him. It’s a deep blue notebook. The cover is rumpled and the whole thing has definitely seen better days, but this isn’t what Max is worried about. It’s what’s inside that’s the problem.

Daniel’s brown eyes keep shifting from the notebook to Max’s face. Max can’t tell if he’s waiting for an explanation or if he’s silently asking for his permission to open it. He decides for the latter.

“Open it.”

Daniel does and red, blue, green scribbles suddenly present themselves to him. He starts flicking through the pages without actually reading any of them. His face is still confused, but it’s obvious he’s growing more curious every second. It’s encouraging enough for Max to give him full disclosure.

“It’s where I write. Sometimes.”

“I didn’t know you like writing.” Daniel says, sounding intrigued. His hands apparently can’t stop caressing the pages, almost like they can’t believe what they are experiencing. Almost like Daniel wants to soak up Max’s words with his skin.

“Yeah, well…” he scratches his head. “No one knows.”

Daniel looks up at that and emits the tiniest _oh_ Max has ever heard in his life. He regards him with something very similar to admiration in his gaze and Max feels himself blush. He’s not that good.

“It’s nothing special. Just my thoughts. Stuff that I need to get out. That sort of thing” he explains.

His boyfriend doesn’t seem too happy about his own belittlement, but they both know this is an argument they can save for another day. He just nods and closes the notebook, placing it on Max’s lap.

“No. No, I want you to read it” he clarifies. “Please.”

Daniel opens his mouth to protest, but Max quickly cuts him off before he can even start talking.

“I wrote a lot about you recently. The blue parts. That’s you.”

Daniel smirks and Max instantly knows he’s doing the right thing. Daniel deserves to know.

“Blue. Why?” he asks.

Max simply shrugs. “I like blue.” _I like you_ is obviously implied. “It makes me happy.” _Like you do._

“And what about the other colours?”

“They’re not that important. Don’t read those.”

Daniel frowns, but doesn’t comment on it. Max doesn’t want to talk about his fears and childhood traumas, he wants this moment to be as happy as possible. No darkness allowed.

“Okay, so… what should I read then?”

Max quickly finds the page he knows to be the right one and shoves the notebook to Daniel.

“This. Don’t read it out loud. It’s awkward.”

Daniel nods and starts reading. Max studies his expressions as carefully as he can. He frowns when he’s struggling to understand Max’s handwriting. He softens when Max mentions how happy he feels around him. He laughs when he finds out just how _hot_ his boyfriend thinks he is. When he’s done he smiles softly at him and reaches for his right hand. It’s the one he writes with. Daniel lifts it to his lips and gently kisses it, his eyes glinting with devotion.

Max is genuinely surprised he hasn’t melted already. He knows now. His heart, his mind, his whole being are screaming at him. There’s no doubt now. He rushes to his desktop, grabs the first blue pen he finds and plops down on the bed again. Daniel goes from worried to confused to amused. Max can’t wait to pick a word for his next state of mind.

He scans the notebook until he finds the last page he has written on. Then in blue ink he adds today’s date and a simple, short sentence.

_I don’t know what love is, but I know it has his name_.

Euphoric. That’s the word he’s going with. Daniel looks euphoric. Max already knows he is going to write in blue ink for the rest of his life.


	4. But you hate grocery shopping? (Kimi/Seb)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic Simi because this idea popped into my head and I just had to write it.  
Seb has a bad day, but luckily he has Kimi in his life.  
Enjoy :)

He sighs and rests his head against the freezing cold door of his building. He can barely feel the tips of his ears and the strong wind isn’t helping with his soaked jeans.

It’s been one of those days where the car wouldn’t start and the subway was packed and children were using their outside voices at 8 o’ clock in the freaking morning.

When he reached the office their copy machine was out of paper. And then out of ink. And then Jacqueline called for his help – when will she learn how to use Windows 10? – and by the time he was done he found a sign on the cursed thing saying it was broken. Of course.

Internet stopped working half an hour later and as soon as they fixed it his computer decided it was time for a system update. “That’s okay. I’m going to have lunch while you do your thing” he thought. Except he had forgotten his sandwich at home. And he had already told his colleagues to go out without him. “I brought my own lunch today” he had said. Idiot.

A terrible headache made his appearance in the middle of their weekly afternoon meeting and the rest of his work day was reduced to a blur of muttered curses and useless temple massages.

It started raining as soon as he stepped out into fresh air. “Maybe it will stop before I get home” he told himself. He didn’t bring an umbrella with him – the weather forecaster had promised a sunny day – and it was quite a walk from the tube station to his flat.

So, obviously, that’s how he finds himself fighting against the lock which just won’t budge as the sky itself is falling down on him.

“Fuck” he groans. “Let me in, please. Let me in. I’m tired.”

The gods above must take pity on him because the door after a couple of hard shoves finally opens and he can step inside the empty lobby. He half-heartedly checks if the lift is functioning again – it isn’t – and he resigns himself to five flights of stairs.

He drags his feet through the final metres and finally he’s at the front door of his home. He never thought he’d find such comfort in a piece of unpolished wood, but here he is. A flick of his wrist, a couple of clonking noises and he’s wrapped by the familiar warmth.

He shrugs off his drenched coat and leaves it hanging at the entrance, then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he relaxes. It’s only a second before he reopens them again in a panic.

Food. There’s no food left in the house. He was supposed to go grocery shopping during his lunch break.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

He hurries in the kitchen to look at the state of his fridge. It was practically empty when he left this morning and he seriously doubts it magically restocked itself.

Except… it did?

Did he buy an enchanted fridge? The man at the shop who sold it to him seemed a bit quirky but _this_? This doesn’t sound like something a wizard would be doing with his powers, but then again who is he to judge?

Wait.

There might be a logical explanation to this.

He smiles as the thought finally occurs to him.

Kimi.

Kimi must have done it.

Yeah, that makes a lot more sense than his theory about magic-gifted sellers.

He grabs his phone and sends him a text he knows he won’t get a reply to.

_Did you go grocery shopping today? xx_

Okay, then. Time to shower and prepare something for dinner.

As soon as he hears the tell-tale sound of the key turning he drops what he’s doing to rush outside the kitchen. Kimi barely has time to register what’s happening before he gets aggressively snogged by his husband. Looking dumbfounded he chuckles lightly when Seb finally decides to let him breathe.

“What was _that_ for?” he asks. “Not like I didn't appreciate the greeting.”

Seb feels himself blushing under his gaze, but tries to regain some composure.

“That was a _thank you_ for being such a great husband.”

Kimi just shrugs and makes a beeline for their bedroom, Seb immediately chasing after him.

“You don’t get it. You went grocery shopping. You _hate _grocery shopping” he insists.

“Okay, fine. I hate it” he concedes. “But I hate more seeing you tired.”

It’s truly a shame you can only marry the love of your life once. Maybe they can get a divorce and do it all over again. He doubts Kimi would agree though. So he kisses him again.

“You even got the yogurt. I love you so much.”

“I picked your favourite, right?” he sounds so unsure. Bless his soul.

The one with the fruit pieces. You hate the fruit pieces. You always pull a face when you steal some from my breakfast and find the little chunks in it. Yet you never say anything and pretend I didn’t notice. And you bought it. Because you hate it, but it’s _my_ favourite.

“Yes, _Liebling_. Everything’s perfect.” Another kiss. “Thank you.”

They’re cuddling on the couch after dinner, on the telly a rerun of a football match they don’t even care about. A question suddenly pops into his mind.

“Wait. How did you know I forgot about the grocery?”

Kimi hesitates before answering like he does when he’s trying not to hurt his feelings. Uh.

“You didn’t” he clears his throat. “You didn’t text me at lunch.”

Oh. _Oh._ Right.

Over the years they developed this little tradition of theirs. Around midday Seb reminds Kimi that he loves him and Kimi never replies. He doesn’t have to.

(Technically neither Seb has to, but it became a sort of mood check. Seb only forgets to send the text when he’s super busy or stressed. This way Kimi always knows how his day is going. It’s quite clever actually.)

“So before going to work you went grocery shopping” he adds.

“Why do you keep saying it?” Kimi finds it amusing.

“Because I’m still in shock. Normally I almost have to drag you to the supermarket with me.”

“Does it…” he pauses. “Does it turn you on?”

“Kimi!” he shrieks.

“You know I’d never kink-shame you, my love.”

He’s smirking. God, he loves this idiot so much.

He bursts into laughter and his husband promptly follows him.

And if domestic and caring Kimi does turn him on a little bit, he never has to know.


	5. I don’t mind being second as long as you’re the one ahead of me (Max/Daniel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii I know I said no fics until July but uh I was in need of some distraction and this idea has been stuck in my brain for weeks so here we are. Not a proper AU this time, I'm as shocked as you are ahah Daniel never left Red Bull and this is the 2020 season so yeah I guess it's still kinda AUish
> 
> Also I noticed that I'm approaching 10k hits and wow, this is also a sort of _thank you_ from me for all your incredible love and support! I'd never thought my silly little things could get so much attention but here we are. Thank you <3

_The Red Bulls are unbeatable on this track it seems. Mercedes and Ferrari couldn’t keep up with them in quali yesterday and they certainly can’t keep up with their excellent pace today_.

_Yes, Martin, looks like we’re going to have a repeat of last week with Max Verstappen climbing on the highest step of the podium. This time – unless I am jinxing it now – it’s going to be a one-two for the Red Bull team!_

The camera follows the leader of the race as he makes his way across the finish line one more time while the ecstatic crowd cheers for him as he flies past them. Down at Turn 1 there’s a grandstand filled with people in orange t-shirts and caps, jumping up and down, probably in time with their _Super Max_ anthem.

There’s a midfield battle going on, but no one pays it any mind because the images suddenly jump back to the familiar dark blue car. Car that is going significantly slower than before, it seems.

_Oh no, Crofty! Is the Honda engine proving itself unreliable for the second week in a row? With only a few turns to go can Max Verstappen make it to the finish line before everyone else catches up to him?_

_Well, he better hope so! Christian Horner definitely won’t be pleased if he doesn’t._

_A bad case of commentator’s curse for you, that’s for sure. I’d start running…_

Before heading into the final straight Max checks his mirrors, smiling to himself when he spots a familiar shape fast approaching him.

“What are you doing, Max? What’s going on?” Horner yells on the radio. Max doesn’t care what he says. Not today at least.

He slows down a bit more, just to be sure, right foot ready to be slammed back down as soon as necessary. He keeps the car maybe a bit too much to the left side of the track, but God forbid he makes a mess the one time he chose to put his selflessness on show.

_Max Verstappen, championship leader Max Verstappen, after leading this race for most of its 66 laps is limping to the chequered flag! Unbelievable scenes here in Barcelona today!_

The twin car flashes past him and for a second Max can sense the confusion Daniel surely must be feeling. He slams down on the throttle and tries not to think of the scolding he’s going to get.

_And just like that, with a last minute twist of fate, Daniel Ricciardo wins the Spanish Grand Prix! The man who had to retire in Zandvoort last week will bring the bigger trophy home today. What a race!_

_What a race, indeed. But it got me thinking, do you think Verstappen slowed down on purpose?_

_Like Barrichello did with Schumacher? I don’t think I heard any team orders flying around…_

_Well, maybe they had discussed it earlier, before the race._

_Honestly, Martin, I don’t see any reason for them to do such a thing. Perhaps we’ll hear it from the drivers themselves._

Daniel pulls up right next to him and only then Max steps out of the car, immediately grabbing one of Daniel’s still gloved hands as they stand on top of their Red Bulls. They’re winners. Both of them, no matter what the stats may say.

They let go of each other only to jump off their cars and into their mechanics’ arms. Max hugs his engineer and quickly shouts an apology into his ear. GP probably has figured it out already. Horner on the other hand might want some explanations.

“What happened, Max?” he asks. “I thought the car was good today.”

Max shrugs and avoids further questions busying himself with the helmet. Bless those things, honestly. His eyes meet Daniel’s and he can tell the other man is smiling even with his face still half covered.

Daniel hands his helmet to someone before dragging Max into a proper hug.

“You’re welcome” Max whispers into his ear.

Dan is frowning when he pulls away, but then he seems to grasp what was implied behind Max’s words and his eyes widen as he looks taken aback.

“Oh no, Maxy, you didn’t” he says.

“But I did” Max replies, cocky as ever.

Daniel breaks into one of his blinding smiles and that little ounce of regret is burnt away from his mind.

Jenson Button is interviewing Daniel and Max is standing nearby, waving at the crowd every now and then, trying not to stare at his teammate for too long. Trying to come up with a decent answer that won’t get him into more trouble than he is already.

“Now onto you, Max.” Jenson says as he approaches him, mic in hand. “Congratulations on another podium this year.” He nods a _thanks_ before the Brit goes on. “That was a shocking final lap, can we know what happened there? We know engines are fickle little things…”

Jenson throws a look in Daniel’s direction and Max knows what he’s trying to say. _Honda engines suck. They are unreliable. Last week Daniel lost a race because of them. Now this._ He won’t speak ill of his own team. Nor their engines. Especially since he did not have any engine problems today.

“Nah, we just want to keep the championship entertaining” he jokes. “We’re a team. I don’t mind being second that much if my teammate is the winner.”

He looks over to Daniel who winks at him while he’s talking to Charles and it feels like taking a million points home.

Later that day, when the champagne has been washed from their skin and a differently induced layer of sweat has replaced it, Daniel asks him if he truly meant it.

“Of course” he yawns. “I don’t mind being second as long as you’re the one ahead of me.”

“Aw, Maxy. Does that mean you’ll let me win the title this year?”

“Fuck off” he snorts. “You give him an inch and he’ll take a m-”

The _mile_ gets muffled by Daniel’s lips pressing against his. It was never about winners or losers, but for sure – as he lies in bed, legs tangled with Daniel’s and one of his hands into his hair, it’s easy to think – he has won at life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!!
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr @ scharletred


	6. Falling for you, literally (Alex/Charles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooo guess who's back??? Hope you didn't miss me too much. Also, is this a new pairing? Yes it is! Cute journalist Alex was too good of a concept to pass. I'm not even sorry. Enjoy!

“Isn’t that our Alex?”

The camera moves around until it settles on a pair of young men. One of them, dressed in dark skinny jeans and a red t-shirt, is giving a piggyback ride to the other. The boy being carried is holding two crutches and he seems to be missing a shoe. The camera zooms in and a cast can be noticed.

The two boys finally reach the hosts of the show and the one dressed in red gently lowers the other one down and helps him with the crutches.

“Alex, what happened? Did you break your leg?”

The boy with the cast nods his head towards the other one and says: “You should ask _Leclerc_ what happened.”

The other boy, Leclerc, visibly blushes and ducks his head in embarrassment.

“Racing incident?” he tries as Alex scoffs.

_a few days earlier_

“Hello everyone and welcome to the vibrant Singapore!” Alex says with a smile before holding two fingers up in a peace sign, his trademark greeting. “Our driver of the week is Charles Leclerc and – you should know the drill by now – he will be taking us on a lap down these streets with a means of transportation of his choice!”

A boy walks up next to him, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“And here he is! Hi, Charles! How are you?”

“I’m very happy to see you, _Alexander_!” he exclaims. “I’m so excited for this!”

Alex laughs softly, a fond look on his face that he’s trying – and failing – to hide well.

“What crazy idea have you come up with? I’m kinda scared of finding out if I’m honest.”

“No, _Alexandeeer_!” Charles pouts. “No need to be afraid, I promise.”

Alex raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, so…” he turns left and right. “I don’t see anything around here, what did you choose for our circuit guide?”

Charles makes a show of unzipping the duffle bag and taking something out of it: “_Tadaa_!”

“Rollerblades?” Alex asks, a bit sceptically. “Are you sure, Leclerc?”

Charles nods enthusiastically: “Yes! We’re going to have so much fun, you’ll see!”

The two boys happily skate on the streets of Singapore, the camera trailing closely behind them. They make a few stops here and there, so that Charles can explain how to approach a certain corner or to show how close to the walls the cars usually get. The sky above them is dark and starless, but their figures cast no shadow on the ground thanks to the thousands of artificial lights placed around the circuit. It feels magical and surreal at the same time.

“And this was the second to last corner, there’s not really much to say about the last one so…” Charles throws a quick look over his shoulder, Alex a few metres behind him. “Race you to the finish line!” he yells before sprinting down the asphalt.

Alex lurches forward, immediately after him. He huffs some swear words that the mic luckily doesn’t catch, annoyance clear on his face.

Just as he’s about to reach Charles and overtake him, the Ferrari driver stumbles and loses his balance, clearly going to take a nasty fall.

“Charles, no!” Alex shouts, throwing himself forwards in a desperate attempt to catch the other boy before he hits the ground.

The two of them end up a tangle of limbs on the asphalt, both groaning in pain and panting heavily.

“Are you guys okay?” asks the cameraman who finally caught up with them.

Charles nods and moves to get up, but as soon as he does Alex lets out a cry.

“My ankle!” he shouts. “It hurts like hell!”

Charles mouths “help me get him up” to the cameraman and the video gets cut short, but not before Alex’s face darkens and he yells: “I hate you so much right now, Leclerc! If something is broken, I hope you DNF on Sunday!”

_now_

“Ouch, Alex, that sounded painful!” says one of the hosts.

“Because it was!” Alex says, almost laughing. “Luckily I just sprained it, but it hurt so much I was sure I had broken a bone.”

Charles mumbles what appears to be the millionth apology to the other boy who just shrugs.

“And now Charles is carrying you around the paddock?”

Alex nods as Charles explains: “It’s the least I can do to make up for it.”

“If you win, Charles, you have to dedicate it to him!” suggests the other host.

“Oh, obviously I’ll do it. I wouldn’t even be racing if it wasn’t for Alex cushioning my fall.”

The hosts share a knowing look before one of them adds: “He definitely wouldn’t have done it for everyone. You’re lucky you’re cute, Charles.”

Alex seems tempted by the idea of murdering his older colleagues, but in the end he concedes: “Yeah, you’re lucky you’re cute, Leclerc.”

And if his exasperated tone and accompanying eye-roll are totally fake, no one needs to know. Besides, the whole paddock has a crush on Charles. Sue him.


End file.
